


Ad Infinitum

by Saucery



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Anal Sex, Androids, Artificial Intelligence, Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Choking, Consciousness Play, Consensual Kink, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, M/M, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Porn, Robot Sex, Robots, Rough Sex, Smut, Stamina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:16:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian's recharging goes a little overboard. He's bursting with energy, and the best way to get it back under control is to have marathon sex. With John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ad Infinitum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wolfsbanecookies](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wolfsbanecookies).



* * *

 

It's six in the fucking morning when the door-bell chimes, and John swears and half-falls out of bed before making his way to the front hallway. Scratching his bare stomach and yawning, he leans heavily against the doorframe and checks the security panel to see who it is.

Great. It's Dorian. Of course it's Dorian.

John almost goes back to bed, but then he squints at the panel, and he can tell that something isn't quite right about Dorian, that Dorian's got this manic smile plastered on his face and that he's actually _bouncing on his feet_ , like the goddamn Energizer bunny. Or a puppy that's been waiting to be taken out for a walk.

Grumbling, John opens the door and blinks bleary eyes at Dorian. "What?" he growls.

"Hi, John! It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

Beautiful? The sky looks vaguely blue, but whatever. "What it _is_ , is the first day of my well-earned leave. Why do I have to see your sorry self?"

"Do I look sorry to you, John?" Dorian bounces some more. His grin stretches alarmingly.

"What happened," John asks, flatly.

"You're supposed to end questions with question-marks, John, generally indicated by a rise in intonation at the end of a spoken sentence, but your tone didn't rise by a - "

"What. Happened."

Dorian nudges the door open even wider, and sidles in before John can object. "I'm over-charged."

"Over - " John rubs a hand over his aching forehead. He had too much bourbon yesterday night. "How is that even possible?"

Dorian shrugs. And _keeps bouncing_.

John's headache gets worse, just watching him. "Stop that."

Dorian stops bouncing, but he still looks weirdly buzzed, like he's high, like he's wired in more ways than one. There's a barely-restrained energy to him; he could probably ricochet off the walls and into outer space given half the chance.

"How'd you over-charge?"

"A malfunction in the building's generator. You know there's an independent generator that charges the power-pods for the MXs and - and me, right?"

"Yes," John says, slowly.

"Well, there was this power surge half an hour ago that fried most of the MXs' circuits, but in my case, it just got me kind of... excited."

"Excited." John's gaze drops to Dorian's crotch before he can help it, and sure enough, _it_ is huge. Huger than normal, and it was already really huge. "Fuck."

Dorian nods eagerly. "That's the idea."

"You can't mean..."

"John. Nothing depletes my energy reserves quicker than us having sexual intercourse. It taxes my neural circuits and emotional simulators as much as my pseudo-reproductive organs, and - "

"No. It is six in the morning. _No_."

"But I've seen pornography where people wake each other up with morning sex! It's supposed to be awesome!"

"I don't recall you waking me up with morning sex. I recall you dragging me to the door and propositioning me in the least flattering way possible. Since all you need is a socket to plug your dick into, I'm sure you can find it elsewhere." John starts to herd Dorian back out the door. "Goodbye."

"Wait. Wait! John, it can't - it can't _be_ anyone else. You know that."

John... pauses.

"John," Dorian says, low and cajoling, and he's looking at John like John is everything he needs, and -

And John pinches the bridge of his nose. Dorian's doing the abandoned-kitten eyes, so it's not John's fault that he lets him into the apartment again, is it?

"I knew you'd understand," Dorian says, and the next few seconds are a dizzying blur. Dorian sweeps John up in his arms and rushes to the bedroom, where he drops John onto the bed with a bounce and climbs in after him, somehow managing to strip out of his clothes in under a minute. Dorian's chest is gleaming with the artificial sweat that means his circuits are heating up dangerously, and Dorian's dick is leaking at the tip, gleaming in the dim light. Dorian's hands are trembling and his eyes are fever-bright, and there's an edge of too much force to the kiss he gives John, tilting John's face up to his own.

"Have you been hard the whole time?" John asks, when Dorian moves on to biting his throat, his teeth unerring on John's racing pulse. "Since you - since you got over-charged?"

"Yeah," Dorian says, and works John's boxers off, throwing them on the floor. He curls a hand over John's left thigh and pushes it to the side, baring John's stiffening cock and the shadowed cleft of his ass. " _Yeah_."

Dorian's playful grin has dissolved, leaving behind an almost frightening concentration as he runs his palms up John's torso and pinches John's nipples. John curses and jerks, his bionic leg twinging with pain, but Dorian just shushes him and reaches for the lube on the bedside stand.

"Have you been fucking yourself with this?" Dorian asks, slicking his fingers and sliding one into John's hole. John's dick swells to a full erection, and Dorian grips it with his other hand, stroking it. "The tube's almost half the size it was since I was last here, and I _know_ you haven't slept with anyone else."

"Fuck you," John grits out, trying to shove up and into Dorian's clasp, but Dorian just laughs fondly and lets _go_ of him, the bastard, pinning John's hips down instead.

"Maybe next time. Today, I need to have you, John. I _need_ you - fuck, you're - " And Dorian's up to two fingers, curving them inside John until they locate his prostate and John's dick jumps, but John's never had much patience with being fingered, so he spreads his thighs even further and glares up at Dorian.

"Do it," he commands, and Dorian stares at him for a long, unreadable moment. For that instant, there's an inhumanity to Dorian, a total lack of visible emotion, and Dorian only ever looks like that when he's too busy processing data to put any effort into emulating appropriate facial expressions. It always reminds John that he's being fucked by a _machine_ , a machine for whom desire might mean something else altogether, and it makes John break out in a shudder that somehow makes him even hotter, makes his hole clench hungrily around Dorian's fingers. "Do it," John repeats, his heart pounding.

Dorian pulls his fingers out, trailing lube up to John's dick, which he gives a cursory squeeze before reaching for his own cock. When he angles it into John, the deep, slicing _burn_ of it sends a shock up John's spine, and all he can do is lie there and gasp as Dorian slides in and in and in and _in_. John is briefly terrified that it'll never end, that Dorian will _destroy_ him, but even the thought of that only makes John's dick twitch and splatter pre-come onto his belly.

"You're afraid," Dorian says, and his voice is - it's different, fractured and hoarse and poorly modulated, dropping registers too quickly for it to be human. "Why are you afraid, John?"

"Just shut up and fuck me," John says, locking his ankles around Dorian's waist, and Dorian bends over him and fucks into him with the slow, steady pace that always makes John's head spin and his eyelids dip and his mouth go _slack_ , and he only realizes he's drooling when Dorian wipes at the corner of John's lips with a thumb.

"You like it when you're afraid," Dorian says, and he still sounds terrifyingly flat and jagged by turns, some strange mixture of conversational and _mad_. "John, I can hurt you more, if you want me to. I can - I can choke you, you liked that before - "

John shivers and moans, and then Dorian's hands are around his neck, pressing inwards till John can't make any noises at all, can't even breathe, and Dorian just keeps fucking him as steadily as before, rocking the bed with his thrusts, the bedposts banging out an even rhythm against the wall. Tears gather in John's eyes and his balls tighten so much it's painful, and it's only when a glittering darkness starts tinting his vision that Dorian releases John and lets him gulp in breath after desperate breath of air.

"Gonna come," John says raggedly, the words torn out of him, husky and shaking with the sobs John can't hold in.

Dorian just kisses him through it, through the orgasm that reduces John's consciousness to a blazing, white-hot point, that makes John's head snap back and hit the pillow. John shoots all over himself, his cock throbbing like a sprain, the spurts going so far as to reach John's chin. John's entire body seizes up, muscles screaming, jaw grinding shut on a shout that never makes it out.

When John's limbs finally relax, he returns to a wavering, watery awareness, his blood pumping weakly in his veins and his skin drenched in sweat. Dorian's still fucking him, at exactly the same tempo as before, solid and unchanging, moving a more-or-less insensate John on the bed. John groans and lets his legs fall open, no longer wrapped around Dorian, but Dorian just lifts them over his shoulders and _keeps going_.

Dorian's never lasted this long, before. But then, Dorian's never been over-charged.

John's head lolls as he closes his eyes and just _takes_ it, because that's all he can do. He's sloppy with lube and Dorian's own synthetic pre-ejaculate, which makes each movement slicker than the last, and John feels fucked open and loose and bruised from the inside out, his hole making obscene, wet, grasping sounds around Dorian's cock.

Dorian isn't saying anything. Maybe he _can't_ say anything - he looks focused and blank and absorbed, his circuitry flashing an electric blue, illuminating intricate patterns on his face.

John's getting hard again, the embers of his arousal flickering back to life, sparking through him and thickening his dick. When he comes for the second time, it surges out of him in a gradual welling up of heat, leaving him even more boneless than before. The air is thick with the scent of sex and the sheets are a sodden mess, but Dorian doesn't stop. John isn't going to survive this. John isn't sure he _wants_ to survive this.

"I'mma pass out," he slurs drunkenly, and it isn't a warning as much as it is a statement of fact, but Dorian just cups John's face in a warm hand and continues fucking him, not speeding up and not slowing, and John is distantly aware of coming for a third time before everything goes black.

*

Dorian's still in him when John wakes up, and it _hurts_ , but at least the position is new, putting strain on another set of John's taxed muscles. He's so damn tired. Dorian's flipped him over and is fucking him face-down, and John's erection is dripping on the sheets, but Dorian's lifted his hips above the mattress so John can't rub himself off. John whines in complaint, but Dorian comforts him and tells him it'll be okay, _he'll_ be okay, just another hour, just a -

Just -

John screams soundlessly as he comes.

*

The clock says it's 3:50 p.m., and there's the smell of fried eggs drifting in from the kitchen. John isn't even sure he's alive, anymore; his senses seem to be working, but his arms and legs just won't _budge_. His ass is... hell, it's _numb_ , except for when he tries to get up, and then it flares into a sharp, lancing agony that has him panting and falling back onto the bed.

"Stay there, John!" Dorian's voice floats across to him. "I'm bringing you breakfast in bed!"

"It's too late for _lunch_ ," John grouses, but stays put. It's not like he has a choice; if he even attempts to stand, he's absolutely certain he'll fall over. He's grateful he's on leave; he can't possibly report for duty in this condition. Stupid androids and their stupid stamina.

"How are you feeling, John?" Dorian asks as he enters the bedroom, balancing a tray piled with what looks like the breakfast of seven lumberjacks. There's bacon and eggs and toast and sausages and pancakes and maple syrup and _coffee_ , which John lunges for before his ass reminds him that yes, it's still suffering from PTSD, and John freezes with his hand halfway to the tray.

"How do you think I'm feeling? I need goddamn painkillers."

"Already bought 'em for you. But you'd better eat, first." Dorian settles the tray gingerly on the bed, and John picks up the coffee as soon as he can, chugging it down a stinging throat. Just how much yelling did John do, anyway? Even swallowing a harmless beverage feels like pouring napalm down his gullet.

"Where'd you get all this?" John waves at the food on the tray. "All I had in my fridge was the bread."

Dorian smiles, and it's his usual smile, not that worryingly manic grin. Thank _god_. "I went shopping."

"With whose money?"

"Mine! Captain Maldonado gave me a credit-chip for expenses that might, um, be necessary."

"Like bribing your partner with breakfast after screwing him into oblivion?"

Dorian ducks his head guiltily. "I - I'm sorry. I didn't - it's just that I - "

"Quit it. Your apologizing is creeping me out." John considers the picture-perfect pancakes grouchily, and reaches for the maple syrup. "Just don't expect me to _walk_ for at least another week. You're doing my laundry, cooking for me, everything."

Dorian's eyes go wide. "Does that mean - can I - can I _live_ here?"

"Get your power-pod from Rudy's lab. Can't have you over-charging whenever the generator messes up."

"John..." Dorian ducks down to kiss John on his syrup-sticky mouth. "Thank you. So much. I can't tell you how much I - "

"Yeah, yeah," John grunts. "Now beat it. If you don't get Maldonado's permission and make it to Rudy's lab in time, you'll have to wait until tomorrow."

Dorian leaves so fast, he practically vanishes.

John settles in to finish his breakfast. The pancakes are flawless. Since when was Dorian programmed to cook? Or did he just learn it today, for John?

The picture of Dorian hovering nervously in John's neglected kitchen, frantically downloading recipes into his neural net, is definitely... something. _Not_ 'touching', or 'adorable', or any of the completely inaccurate descriptors John's brain seems determined to come up with.

Damn it. Looks like John's going to have some company around here, after all.

 

* * *

 

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Like my writing? Check out [my blog](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!


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